Midnight Silpper

Chapter 2

Adrienne

The first time I realized something was wrong with my mother was when I had come home from school and she and dad were fighting. Charlotte Vitelli was a beautiful woman—tall and slender, with a wealth of dark hair that cascaded down her back, much like mine. My father, Robert Vitelli was even taller, with broad shoulders and the bluest eyes I had ever seen.  

I inherited my mother's bronze-tanned complexion and volume of dark, straight hair, thanks to her Mediterranean heritage, while I inherited a mixture of their eyes. I was often mistaken for one ethnicity or another, but I was never more proud of being the product of the two most gorgeous people, in my mind, on the planet. My father was of Persian heritage, which was evident in my looks.

"Charlotte..." my father cautioned, one day.  As a growing kid, I was observant of the adults around me.  The seriousness in his tone, the wary approach to the woman he loved, had me curious and concerned all at the same time.  Despite my inability to understand what was happening, I knew that something serious was plaguing my father.  "Let's talk about this. You know what the doctor said..."

"I'm not crazy!" Charlotte answered, but she didn't sound right to my ears. Anger and frustration poured forth, as she faced off with my father. Her eyes glinting with something. "I know what the doctor said and I'm telling you I don't need to go on those pills!"

"It's going to get worse if we don't get you treatment," my father explained, attempting to get her to see reason, but it appeared hopeless, as she clung to her own reasoning. 

I had no idea what they were talking about and I sensed the dark undertones to the argument. As I wandered into the living room, I looked between the two of them. "What's going on?"

As if noticing me for the first time, both of them turned to me, surprised. "Oh, sweetheart," my mother called, her eyes softening, her tone reassuring. "I didn't know you came home..."

"It's after three," I answered. "I was going to make something to eat and then meet up with Zayne afterwards."

Whatever they were fighting about, my father looked to my mother, before turning to me. "Alright. Just don't stay out too late."

I didn't say anything more, as I headed upstairs. I could hear their voices downstairs, in hushed conversation, like they didn't want me to hear.  Whatever was going on, I sensed the uneasiness and it unsettled me.  

Weeks passed by and I noticed new pills by my mother's bedside. During dinner, my mother would say something strange and my father would look almost concerned. My mother would say nonsensical things that didn't make any sense or burst into a weird emotional state. My father had assured me that mom was seeing a doctor, but she didn't appear to be getting any better.

"She'll be alright," my father assured me one night, as he was readying to tuck me into bed. "She needs help right now and we have to be there to support her."

"If she's ill, shouldn't she go to the hospital?" I asked him, looking up at him with my blue-gray eyes. My mother was sleeping. Usually, she didn't sleep this late, but dad said she was tired.

"She has a different kind of illness," my father explained. "It's in her head. Those are sometimes harder to treat because we can't see them."

"Is that why she talks about someone coming to get her?" I asked him, frowning.  At first, I was scared, but as she continued going on about it, I realized there was no real danger and my father, on more than one occasion, reassured me that it was nothing to worry about.  "She keeps telling me that when I get home that I have to hide."

Concerned marred his features, as alarm took over.  The signs of exhaustion appeared on his face, something that was never there before.  "When did she tell you this?" my father asked concerned. He tensed beside me. Uh oh. Maybe, I shouldn't have said anything, I thought. I didn't want to cause him anymore stress.